XXIV. CONCLUDED. NOR can I not believe but that her eby thought: And thus from day to day my little Boat XXV. TO SLEEP. O GENTLE Sleep! do they belong to thee, These twinklings of oblivion? Thou dost love To sit in meekness, like the brooding Dove, A Captive never wishing to be free. This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me A Fly, that up and down himself doth shove Upon a fretful rivulet, now above, Now on the water vexed with mockery. I have no pain that calls for patience, no; Hence I am cross and peevish as a child: And pleased by fits to have thee for my foe, Yet ever willing to be reconciled: O gentle Creature! do not use me so, But once and deeply let me be beguiled! XXVI. TO SLEEP. A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees; Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health! XXVII. TO SLEEP. FOND words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep! Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost? XXVIII. WITH Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh, Some veering up and down, one knew not why. Come like a Giant from a haven broad; When will she turn, and whither? She will brook |